Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3

by Margaret Lashley

  Crap. When you put it that way....

  “I dunno, Winky. It’s the way she talks to me. Like there’s an unspoken ‘idiot’ at the end of each sentence.”

  Winky grinned. “Well, she is talkin’ to you.”

  “One more comment like that and you’ll be eating a knuckle sandwich. And I don’t mean pig knuckles.”

  Winky smirked. “At least you come by it honest, Val.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a chip off the old block.”

  I was about to feed Winky my fist full of knuckles when my phone rang.

  “Looks like we got reception,” Winky said.

  “It’s Laverne!” I grabbed the phone. “Laverne? We got cut off. What happened? Did Nancy knock Randolph out with her rolling pin?”

  “What? No, honey. She was as pleased as punch.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nancy brought Randolph home and gave me a big old thank-you hug.”

  “Laverne, have you been drinking?”

  “Well, yes. I had a two cups of coffee and a glass of orange juice. Why?”

  “Ugh! Laverne, I thought Nancy would have flipped her lid over having her yard sprayed down with pig crap!”

  “You know, I would have thought so, too, honey. But not Nancy. She thought it was part of our surprise for Spruce-Up September!”

  “Huh?”

  “Nancy told me she used to live in a small village in Germany. Apparently, every fall the farmers sprayed the fields with pig poop. She said it made her feel right at home.”

  “Even the smell?”

  “Especially the smell.”

  “Go figure. Thanks, Laverne.”

  I clicked off the phone and turned to Winky.

  “What’d she say?” he asked.

  “One man’s poop is another man’s treasure.”

  Winky shrugged. “Gee, Val. I could a tole you that.”

  I’D PLANNED ON KEEPING it a secret until we arrived in Greenville, but I was desperate for a change of subject. If Winky didn’t stop naming every NASCAR driver Big Gulp cup he had in his collection, I was going to crawl into the back of the hearse and die.

  “Winky, I think Goober may be living in Greenville and working at my mom’s beauty parlor.”

  Winky stopped mid “Dale Earnhardt” and stared at me.

  “What in tarnation? How you figure that?”

  “I just got a gut feeling when I was talking to my mom yesterday. There’s a woman there with a rainbow Mohawk.”

  Winky shot me a look. “You on drugs?”

  “No. It’s a long story. I’ll show you when we get there. Anyway, I was wondering. Did Goober ever show you his navel?”

  “Now I know you’re on drugs!”

  “I’m serious. I saw it once. It looks like he’s got two, actually. He said he got shot in the stomach and the scar looks like a second navel.”

  “Well, I don’t know nothin’ about that. But it’s kind a cool, if you think about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean like, if Goober was some kind of secret agent man, like in the movies.”

  “With Goober, who knows? I can’t decide if he’s a genius or just bonkers. But if you think about it, I guess we’re all a bit of both.”

  “Huh. I ain’t too sure about that, Val. If Goober’s a genius, he keeps it better hid than a Baptist’s liquor cabinet.”

  I sighed. For once, Winky did have a point. And it wasn’t on top of his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was just before 3:00 p.m. when Winky veered the flaming black hearse off westbound I-10 and headed north toward Greenville.

  “Take a right when we get to US 90,” I said.

  “Don’t you wanna go see your mom first?”

  “No.”

  Dread had already formed a grapefruit-sized knot in my stomach.

  “I wanna put that off as long as possible, Winky. Let’s go right to the beauty parlor first. Mom said Betty Jean’s Feed and Beauty was just outside of town.”

  Winky hung a right and we drove past dense patches of towering, longleaf pines, the forest floor beneath them colored rust with a thick, even blanket of shed needles.

  Every half mile or so, we’d see a thinned out area of pines under-storied with dogwoods and clumps of azalea bushes as big as minivans. Tucked up amongst these casual country “yards” sat modest houses erected beside family junk middens comprised of several generations of abandoned cars, appliances and other disused household paraphernalia.

  “This place looks nice,” Winky commented. “Love me some wide-open spaces.”

  “Yup,” I agreed. “Close to nowhere, and yet right up against the highway. You can’t beat it.”

  About three miles out, I spotted a collection of trucks, tractors, and dusty Ford sedans pulled up beside an odd structure that seemed to be the aftermath of soldering together a trailer, several metal storage sheds, and a small warehouse.

  A one-word sign painted on the apex of the warehouse read, “Feed.” Around these parts, that could mean lots of things. But seeing as there was an ambulance pulled up in front of it, I figured it was most likely a restaurant.

  We were about to drive by it when I spotted an old Minnie Winnie. It was parked off to the side of the trailer end of the cobbled-together buildings.

  “Winky! Stop! Turn in here!”

  Winky jacked the steering wheel on the hearse and we nearly flipped into a ditch. He managed to straighten out the rear end as it fishtailed on the red clay shoulder, then pulled over into a patch of weeds just outside the main lot.

  “Geeze, Val! You ought to give a feller better notice than that!”

  “I would have, if I’d known myself. Look! I think that’s Goober’s RV!”

  I pointed toward the Minnie Winnie.

  “I’ll be. That looks like her, all right.”

  We climbed out of the hearse for a closer look. As we walked by the ambulance, two EMTs came out of the trailer hauling someone in a stretcher. Right before they tucked her into the back, I caught a glimpse of rainbow hair.

  “Winky! Geeze, Louise! I think that’s Goober.”

  “Where?”

  “In the ambulance. I didn’t want to say anything earlier because my mom has a tendency to...uh...exaggerate, but she told me that the woman who does her hair wasn’t long for this world.”

  Winky gave me a sad face. “Bless her heart. But what’s that got to do with Goober?”

  The ambulance’s lights lit up. The engine roared, and it took off toward the highway.

  “Crap! I don’t have time to explain. Just follow that ambulance! I’ll tell you about it on the way!”

  AS IT TURNED OUT, I had plenty of time to explain.

  The nearest hospital, Madison County Memorial, was thirteen miles down US 90. As we flew along behind the ambulance, I hoped whatever poor soul was in it didn’t look out the back window. They’d be shocked into a heart attack to see they were being followed by the devil’s own paddy wagon.

  “So why we chasing this ambulance again?” Winky asked.

  “Because I think Goober’s in there. I didn’t want to tell you in case it wasn’t true. But it looks like he may be really sick. My mother said Elmira’s been in and out of the hospital for months.

  “Who’s Elmira?”

  “Goober. In disguise. I think.”

  “I been on some wild goose chases, Val. But this here one done took the cake.”

  I bit my lip. “Well, if it’s not Goober, we haven’t lost anything.”

  “’Cept half a tank a dieseline.”

  “I just wonder why he wouldn’t call us. Especially if he was so sick.”

  “Some folks is just like that,” Winky said. “You got your dog folks who want the whole family round to see ‘em pass on. Then you got your cat folks who wander off and you never know ‘zackly what happened to ‘em till somebody finds the body.”

  “That’s real comforting, Winky.”

&n
bsp; “I do my best.”

  We followed the ambulance onto Marion Street. The hospital finally came into view.

  “Looks like we’re here,” I said.

  “Whew!” Winky said. “Good thing I filled up in Lake City. We’d be running on fumes.”

  The ambulance pulled up to the emergency room. Its doors flew open and the EMTs rushed the patient into the hospital.

  “What do we do now?” Winky asked.

  I glanced around and caught sight of a small crowd of people staring at our vehicle in horror.

  “First off,” I said, “we need to find someplace to park this thing so we don’t scare the bejeebers out of everybody.”

  “HELLO, I’M HERE TO see a patient who’s just been admitted,” I said to the woman at the hospital reception desk.

  “Name?”

  “Val Fremden.”

  She peered at a computer screen through her bifocals. “I don’t see it on the list.”

  “Oh. Sorry. That’s my name. I meant um...Goober. But he goes by...uh...Elmira.”

  Geeze! Double crap on a cracker!

  The receptionist scanned the list again without missing a beat. “Sorry. I don’t see anyone named ‘Goober’ or ‘Elmira.’”

  “How about “Gerald Jonohhovitz.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Room 304. You family?”

  I wrapped an arm around Winky’s shoulder and pulled him to my side. “We’re all the family he’s got.”

  “Look, I can’t let you in unless you’re related. Hospital regulations.”

  “I’m his wife,” I blurted.

  “You are?” Winky gasped.

  I shut my eyes and wished my freckled friend would disappear. But when I opened them again, I saw my magic genie hadn’t granted me squat. I pulled Winky to the side of the reception desk.

  “Winky,” I whispered. “I’m trying to get us in to see Goober.”

  “Does Tom know you’re married?”

  “No. I mean, no, I’m not...ugh! Forget it. Winky, you stay here in the waiting room. I’m going to find some way to sneak into room 304.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Find a vending machine.”

  “What for?”

  “An RC and a moon pie, okay?”

  Winky’s left eyebrow shot up. “Roger that.”

  I left Winky reaching for his wallet and slunk down a hallway in search of room 304. When I got to the nurses’ station, I was stopped by an orderly.

  “You can’t go in there,” he said. “Not without a visitor’s badge.”

  “Where do I get one?” I asked.

  He hitched a thumb toward the nurse’s station. “Over there. But nobody’s there right now. They must be busy.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait here,” I said, and sat in a chair and smiled at him demurely.

  He shrugged and disappeared into an elevator. As soon as the doors closed behind him, I shot up out of the chair, grabbed a lab coat off a nurse’s chair, and hid my face behind a clipboard.

  Room 304 was the fourth door on the left. I slipped inside and nearly fainted. The patient with the rainbow Mohawk no longer had a moustache, and his bushy eyebrows were thinned out.

  But it was Goober all right.

  And he was hooked up to more blinking and buzzing medical contraptions than I’d ever seen. Not even on a season finale of General Hospital.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Oh, Goober,” I whispered sadly as I stood over his hospital bed. “Are you okay, buddy?”

  I fought back tears as the respirator covering Goober’s mouth moved mechanically up and down, pumping oxygen into his lungs. My poor friend was unconscious. He was thin and terribly pale, but at least he looked peaceful.

  The sound of footsteps coming down the hall pricked my senses. I wasn’t supposed to be in the room with Goober. The footsteps stopped in front of his room. The door started to open....

  Crap!

  I scrambled into the bathroom, hid behind the door, and eavesdropped on the doctors as they discussed Goober’s case.

  “This is 304...must be the brain tumor,” a man’s voice said.

  A brain tumor! Oh no!

  “Yeah. Says here his blood pressure is failing,” a woman said.

  “That means he’s probably in the final stages. Cardiac arrest is imminent.”

  “How long has he got?”

  “No telling. Minutes. Hours, tops.”

  I bit down hard on my bottom lip. No! That can’t be right!

  “Should we resuscitate when he goes?” the woman asked.

  “No. The chart says he’s signed a ‘no-ro’ order. But he’s an organ donor, so we should leave the respirator on.”

  “What parts do we harvest first?”

  “I dunno. Let’s go check the cafeteria menu,” the man quipped. “I heard today’s special is liver and onions.”

  You horrible, callous dirtbags!

  “You’re so bad!” the woman laughed. “Let’s go get some coffee. I feel like a zombie. I’ve been awake since three.”

  I heard the door squeak open, then click closed. I peeked out, made sure the dastardly pair were gone, and ran over to Goober’s side.

  He looked so weak. So fragile. I touched his arm, lay my head on his shoulder, and started bawling my eyes out.

  “Oh, Goober,” I cried. “Why didn’t you tell us you were ill, you silly peanut head?”

  I felt his shoulder move. I wondered if maybe he could feel my presence. I hugged him tight, then someone said, “What’s going on here?”

  I lifted my head, thinking I’d been caught by a nurse. But to my surprise, the respirator was gone from Goober’s face.

  “Goober!”

  He stared at me until his faraway eyes came into focus, then said, “Val? What the heck are you doing here?”

  “Goober! You’re still alive!”

  “Of course I’m still alive. How’d you find me?”

  “They said you were terminal!”

  “Who?”

  “The doctors. They just left....”

  “Oh. Don’t believe those quacks. I’m perfectly fine.”

  I touched Goober’s arm tenderly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to put on a brave face for me.”

  One of Goober’s plucked eyebrows shot up on his billiard-ball pate.

  “Does this face look brave to you? Val, this is a gig.”

  “A gig?”

  “Yeah. I get paid fifteen bucks an hour to be a fake patient for medical students.”

  “Wha...?”

  “Today I’m patient 304. Inoperable brain tumor.” He turned his head and pointed to some purple lines drawn above his left ear.

  “Whuh?” I sniffed, still in shock.

  Goober laughed and pulled the tape from his fake IV.

  “See? Easiest money I ever made. And as a bonus, I get to ride in an ambulance. I lay around on my butt and get paid, Val. It’s paradise!”

  “Paradise?”

  “Well, there are a few drawbacks. The free lunch sucks. And these marks where the surgeon’s supposed to cut? The darn ink they use won’t wash off for days.”

  As I stared at the surreal vision of Goober in a hospital gown, his bald head marked up like Frankenstein, the icy shock I’d been feeling suddenly melted. It’d been replaced by a conflicting blend of relief and anger.

  I could have throttled Goober for scaring me so. But then again, the overwhelming relief that he was actually okay swamped my anger like a tsunami. I was too happy to care about anything other than the fact that Goober wasn’t going to die anytime soon. Not unless it was at my own hands.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I said.

  “Likewise.” Goober grinned. “Bring any of the other loonies with you?”

  As if on cue, the door to Goober’s hospital room burst open. Winky ran in.

  “Goober!” he hollered. “Is that you?”

  “In the flesh,” Goober said.

  “Well, I’ll be.” Winky ambled over t
o Goober’s side, hugged him, and handed him a teddy bear.

  “Thanks, pal.” Goober shot me a knowing smile. “It’s just what I always wanted.”

  Goober glanced at the clock on the wall. “I get off in twenty minutes. What say I meet you two down in the cafeteria?”

  “I hope they won’t be serving liver and onions,” I said.

  “You ain’t gonna wear that gown thangy there with yore butt hangin’ out, are you?” Winky asked.

  “No. I won’t be needing it anymore. I just got a clean bill of health.”

  “Can I have the dirty one, then?”

  Goober sat up and smiled. “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

  “THIS IS THE BEST DANG chicken-fried pork chop I ever laid lips to. You want a bite?” Winky asked, and jabbed a fork full of fried meat in my face.

  I waved it away. “No thanks.”

  “What? You ain’t hungry?”

  “Pork is kind of off the menu right now. Besides, what does ‘chicken-fried’ mean anyhow?”

  “There you are,” a falsetto voice sounded to my left.

  I looked up and saw a tall, gangly woman in a canary-yellow pantsuit. Atop her otherwise bald head was a crooked, rainbow-hued Mohawk.

  “Well, hi there, purty lady,” Winky said. “You must be Val’s sister Angie.”

  The woman laughed.

  “Winky, that’s Goober,” I said.

  Winky’s chin met his neck. He cocked his head, stared at her sideways and said, “Is not.”

  “Is too,” the woman said, this time in Goober’s voice.

  Winky nearly swallowed his tongue. “What in tarnation are you doin’ in that getup?”

  “Teasing old white ladies’ hair, mostly,” Goober deadpanned. He plopped into the cafeteria chair beside me, his eye on Winky’s plate. “I see you chose the chef special.”

  “Yep. Mighty tasty. You want a bite.”

  “I prefer to limit my diet to things I can identify.”

  A wry grin crept across my lips. I’d really missed Goober and his droll sense of humor.

  “I’m glad to see you’re still the same,” I said to him.

  Goober smiled. “Still up to your old sleuthing tricks, I see. How’d you find me?”